


hellweek

by ttamarrindo



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Angel!Wonpil, Apocalypse, Demon!Jae, Four Horsemen, Good Omens!AU, Heaven & Hell, Jae Swears, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttamarrindo/pseuds/ttamarrindo
Summary: “The only difference between Heaven and Hell is that Hell is boringly torturous and Heaven is torturously boring. And neither of them have sushi on their menu.” - Jae: Book of RevelationThe end of the world is near - barely a week away, in fact. The armies of both Heaven and Hell are gearing up for war and Brian is the unwilling prophet caught up in the crossfire.Enter Jae: a so-called modern demon who is determined to save the world. And, according to him, he needs Brian’s help to do it. The only problem? He seems to have misplaced the Antichrist.(Or, the one where there’s an angel, some demons, a road trip, and one very important ticking clock.)





	1. Sunday: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's Good Omens and includes themes such as religion, faith and death, and some graphic violence (like, one punch) so if that makes you uncomfortable please click away! That said, this is not meant to be a theological discussion by any means, so. Hope you enjoy!

The bar is dingy and run down, the best of the worst this town has to offer up. The bar is also called Paradise. The irony of the name is not lost on Brian, who seeks shelter inside its cracked plaster walls and stumbles in, running away from the rain threatening to flood the streets outside. 

A waiter greets him by the door. Her eyes are locked on the rain clapping like thunder against the bar’s dirty window panes. “It’s really coming down, isn’t?” she asks, smiling like it doesn’t bother her at all.

“Sure is,” Brian answers, shrugging his jacket off as best as he can while he searches for his wallet and slips her two tenners. “A beer. And whatever’s good to eat here, please.”

The tray of empty glasses she’s carrying rattles in her hands as she pockets the money. Brian can hear his mother’s voice whispering inside his head like a loop, twinkling in time. _Storms in teacups, honey. Problems you can’t outrun._

He shakes his head.

“The onion rings are good,” she offers. A particularly close flash of lightning lights up the room and, for a drawn out moment, Brian catches sight of a grin sipping at his drink on the other side of the room. 

“That’ll do,” Brian answers. He nods at her with a small smile, then ambles forward to a table by the corner of the bar. 

It takes him a while to warm up. His hands are cold, his nose red and uncomfortably runny. He’s used to Canada winters, long and quiet and all-compasing. Ohio is different. Here, the temperature dips lower with no warning and seeps down to the marrow, clings too tight for comfort and too hard to shake off. 

Brian rubs his hands over his jean-clad tights and tries to remember where he is. He took a turn at the I-45, some miles after he passed that gas station, the one where the elderly clerk yelled at him for dragging mud all over the floor. He lost his map some time after that, didn’t bother picking another one up. He’s here now. Paradise.

“Here you go.” There’s a clink of ceramic and Brian looks up to see the waitress setting down a steaming plate of onion rings and a burger. She puts down a chop of beer to the side, smiles through a mouthful of braces, and leaves with a low, “holler if you need anything else, yeah?”

The beer is lukewarm at best, and it leaves a bitter aftertaste between his teeth that Brian chases around with his tongue after he chugs half of it down. The food is good, though, and Brian’s been driving over state lines too long to care about much else.

The bar is oddly full for a Sunday night. There’s not a table free, and the room is filled with white noise chatter, the far-off sound of drunken laughter. On the TV hanging from a corner of the bar, the reporter is getting increasingly worried about the storm raging outside. 

Brian is almost done with the onion rings, fingers sticky with grease and blue lips gaining back some of their lost color, when the waitress circles back around. 

“I didn’t order another,” Brian tells her when he sees her setting down another beer next to the one he still hasn’t managed to finish. 

“Didn’t have to.” She shrugs, nodding her head towards the bar. Brian follows the motion, and, sure enough, there’s a blonde man there, the same grin from before, leaning easily against the bar, smiling a bit too wide to be entirely friendly. 

The waitress winks, like she’s hiding one or two secrets tucked inside her back pocket. “Live a little,” she says and walks off towards the kitchens. Brian takes the beer in hand, raises it in a small toast the man’s way, who returns it with his own tumbler, grin widening to show teeth white with ambition. 

It’s not long before the man himself is coming over to Brian’s table. The TV is echoing the thunder Brian can hear rumbling outside the bar. It’s still rumbling when the man drags a chair closer to where Brian is sitting with his back to the wall and takes a seat, lounging against it like it’s more of a throne and less of a three-legged stool. 

“So,” he starts, and his voice is honey-like smooth. Like he’s taken the term _sweet talker_ a tad too seriously. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” 

He looks cocky, smile not dimming for one second, and Brian would be put off, but the man laughs right after he says the awful line, like it’s a joke he knows fell short. Brian bites down on a smile of his own - the beginnings of one, at least. “Thanks for the beer.”

The man waves a hand and cocks his head to the side. He's attractive, if somewhat boyish. His skin is pale or maybe that’s just the bad lighting, washing him out. Either way it makes him look like even 5 o’clock shadow is a struggle. When he laughs, he throws his head back to show a slip of bare throath, beach blonde bangs falling down into his eyes. In the dim light, they seem to glim the lightest of reds. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says, taking a sip of own drink, whiskey gold. “You looked lonely, and I’m great company.” 

Brian figures he’s not half wrong. Brian’s been lonely since he left Canada. Or maybe he’s always been lonely and the place, the where, that’s all happenstance. Here though, the man looks like a good time, looks like a high. And Brian’s tired of feeling down. So he says, “Are you willing to bet on that?” and cocks a brow. The beer sits bitter on his tongue when he brings it up to his mouth. 

“No betting,” the blonde replies. “I can prove it, too. If you let me.”

“What’s your name?” Brian asks in return, leaning back when the man leans forward. 

“Jae,” he answers. Jae extends a hand, lets his thumb brush against Brian’s knuckles when Brian takes it in his. Then he adds, smooth like honey and cold as ice, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Brian Kang.” 

And Brian freezes, suddenly, blood turning ice-cold. He can’t really do anything else. There’s a flash of lighting outside, shattering against the windows and brightening up the room for a heartbeat, two. Jae’s eyes flash red and this time, Brian’s sure, it is no trick of light.

Brian’s pulse jumps. He’s fairly certain Jae can feel it quickening, there where he still hasn't let go of Brian’s hand. He smiles, tapping his fingers against Brian’s wrist where his pulse jackrabbits against his skin.

Brian recoils. 

“What do you want?” He’s clenched his teeth tight, but the question still makes it out, somehow. Wary and on-guard. Jae lets go of his hand and Brian is leaning away instantly, puts as much distance between them as the space will allow. Puts up walls. The bar is still thrumming too much for a deadbeat Sunday night but it all feels diluted and muted down the moment Jae smiles at him, all teeth and entirely full of intention. 

“Ah,” he says, clucking his tongue disappointedly. “And here I thought I was doing so well.”

Brian chances a look to the side. The door is too far away, not to mention Jae’s in the way. The table, too. 

Outside, the rain is still pouring, Brian imagines his heart is falling like the rain, too. Plunging down his throat and to his stomach, settling there like a leaden weight. He looks back at the man; he’s still grinning, but now that Brian know how he is, knows _what_ he is, he just feels like he’s staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

“Calm down,” Jae says, spreading his hands, palms up as if to say _there’s no threat here_. And Brian doesn’t think he’s lying, at least not right now. Demons, Brian’s learned, don’t show their claws until they’re sinking them right into your back. “I just wanna talk.” 

“Talk all you want,” Brian says. “But I’m not going to listen.” He makes to stand up but there are cold finger wrapping around his forearm faster than Brian can think, can blink, and then he’s being pushed back on his seat. Carefully but firmly. Not threat, the demon’s smile says. Not yet. 

“ _Listen_ ,” Jae tries again, trigger-happy smile still present but tone dripping with faux cheer. His eyes have gone hard. Brian feels his skin start to crawl. 

“I’ve been looking for you all over the fucking country, man,” the demon says. “I’m trying to help here, the last thing you could do is hear me out.”

“If you’re trying to convince me that you're not a threat then you’re really not helping your case. At all.” 

“You and I both know the real threat is waiting out there,” Jae says. “ And it is much, _much_ bigger than me.” He sounds oddly smug, like he’s just shared an inner joke he’s sure only the two people at the table are privy to. But he’s wrong, Brian thinks, the world should be laughing. Haha. The world itself is in on it, too. 

Even when Brian remembers to breath, the action doesn’t come easy. Breathe in. Breathe out. He feels like the demon’s just peeled back layers upon layers away from his skin and stared right through his chest, his ribcage. In, then out. His heart is beating stubbornly somewhere down in his stomach. It won’t let up.

“C’mon,” Jae prods when he sees Brian faltering. Takes a mile when given an inch. “You know I’m right. You have to. You’ve predicted this, haven’t you, prophet?” 

“Comes with the job.” Brian sighs, settling back down. He’s still wary, shoulders pulled taut. He can hear his mother’s voice again, looping. _Storms in teacups, honey. Problems you can’t outrun._

There’s certainly no running from this one. There’s something keeping him rooted. Stuck? Shackled? A creeping sense of foreboding, the one he feels everytime he closes his eyes and sees the world’s end painted on the back of his eyelids.

“Right.” Jae nods and there it is. There it is. “So you’ve seen it, then. The Apocalypse, Armageddon. Whatever you wanna call it. End-of-the-world kind of thing.” 

Brian nods, gut rolling. He can’t really deny it. After all, demons can smell lies like sharks on bloody water. 

“Good.” Jae laughs delightedly. “I mean, no offense, but you’d be a real failure of a holy prophet if you hadn’t been able to see that one coming.”

Brian doesn't share the sentiment. He’s seen it. _Of course_ he’s seen it. He still does. He just wishes he could forget.

“What do you want?” Brian asks again. He fidgets on his seat, digs a nail on the wooden table next to the many _Mary heart Steve_ and _Carina was here_ and the like people have left behind. He’s not used to demons being this… chatty. They usually don’t stop to make small talk. Once they’ve made their intentions known, they go straight for the throat. 

“Well it’s simple, really. I need a favor.” Jae shrugs, waves a hand around like he’s a TV reporter and Brian the audience waiting off-screen for the weather forecast. Today: hundred percent chance of trouble. Will remain so for the rest of the week.

“Heaven is tired of humans pounding at its gates,” Jae explains, like he’s telling him the rules of a game Brian didn’t know he was playing up until now. “Hell is sick of being second choice. They figured the easiest way to solve this was with a good old brawl. The ultimate battle, the heavenly war. One that’s gonna come with a lot of collateral damage. Mainly, well...The world.”

Brian closes his eyes for a second, then he opens them again. “So what?” Brian’s eyes flicker over the demon’s face, the dip of his collarbones, his pale skin. “You want me to tell you how it’s going to happen? How it’s all gonna go down? Give Hell and its demons the upper hand?” 

“What? No.” The demon blinks. “I’m here to _stop_ it.” He smiles widely, eyes bleeding red, then dimming back to a warm sort of brown. “I quite like the earth how it is, and I’d much prefer if it kept on spinning for a while longer.” 

He leans forward, elbows on the sticky table. Brian can smell burned sugar and the sharp tang of sulfur in the space between them both, thick like cigarette smoke curling around his lungs. “So what do you say prophet, up for a road trip?”

And Brian feels it then, in the corner of this worn down piss-poor bar. The future is shifting. There’s a new player in the game and circumstance must act according, make amends. The world pauses. Rearranges. Begins to spin again. 

“C’mon,” Jae says, expectant, hand stuck out for a handshake. “It’s gonna be a hell of a ride.” 

But. “No,” Brian says. “I don’t trust you. I don’t want _in_. You can piss off now.” 

Brian is standing up before the demon can get another word in edgewise, stepping around the table and heading fast towards the backdoor. He hears the demon call out to him, asking him to wait, but Brian doesn't listen and, in his hurry to get away, bumps into one of the burly guys playing pool by the billiard table. 

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” The man who barks out at him is buff, stocky. Smells too much like beer. He’s easily a head or two taller than Brian, glaring down at him through beady eyes. Brian ducks his head. The grip the man has on the cue stick is rapidly turning white-knuckled. 

“ _Listen to me_ ,” the demon is saying somewhere behind him, and Brian, heart still out of place, sidesteps Pool Guy and heads for the door.

At least that’s what he intends to do. What really happens is different. Pool Guy grabs him by the arm, grip bruising, spits at his feet, and growls more than says, “ _I said_ , watch where the fuck you’re going, asshole.”

It’s a split-second pause, but Brian hesitates, and that’s all the demon needs to catch up. 

“Hands off,” he says, eyes target-locked on the hand Pool Guy has clamped down over Brian’s shoulder. “Before I get angry.” 

Of course, the one who gets real angry is Pool Guy; he sweeps his gaze over the demon’s body like he’s taking stock: two toothpick arms, lanky legs, easy prey. Pool Guy grins, then he laughs, but it’s an angry sound. His breath is pungent with the sour smell of alcohol and Brian knows what’s going to happen next before Pool Guy even moves. 

Pool Guy throws the first punch. Of course he does. He aims for Brian, his head, and Brian has the time to duck down; he sees the punch coming, the drunken anger in the man’s eyes. He stays still. 

What he doesn’t expect is the demon moving lightning quick to block it for him at Brian’s lack of a reaction. Doesn't expect the way the demon has a cue stick up to Pool Guy’s throat not a second after, pointed like a knife straight to his Adam’s Apple. And it’s raining outside, but Brian still hears Pool Guy suck in a breath when Jae smirks, jutting the cue stick deeper into the skin of his throat, just enough pressure to threaten. 

“ _I said_ ,” Jae says, “hands fucking off.” 

Pool Guy lets go of Brian, who steps away from him and watches warily as Jae lowers the cue stick. He sets it down next to the table, claps his hands like he’s ridding his palms of dust or something particularly nasty. Then he asks, voice all condescending: “There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” 

They get thrown out. Him and the demon. Apparently even a rundown bar still has enough presence of mind left to care about things like manners and proper behaviour. As far as the bouncer is concerned, Brian might as well have held the cue stick himself. There’s a threat to call the police, a growled-out warning, and Brian distinctly remembers that Pool Guy also had friends, so he goes. He’s smart enough to know when he’s standing on the edge.

The waitress sends Brian a sideways look, almost disappointed, as he’s ushered out by the bartender, Jae in tow. So they’re kicked out of Paradise, the holy prophet and the demon. It feels funny, somehow. Brian feels as if he should laugh, so he does.

“You’re kind of fucked in the head, aren’t you?” Jae asks when Brian throws his head back and lets it out, all out; the laughter and the tension. His shoulders drop. The world is still dark and hauntingly bleak. Brian can’t see past the curtain of rain falling all around him and he thinks maybe the sky is crying, he thinks maye it knows, too. How the earth is starting to say goodbye. 

“Occupational hazard,” Brian answers, doesn’t deny it. The world is set to end in a week and Brian is standing outside a deadbeat bar in Middle Of Nowhere, Ohio, with the fall of rain and a mouthy demon as his only company.

In the dark, Jae says, “I want to save the world.” 

“That’s nice,” Brian offers because it’s true. Saving the world, it’s a nice sentiment, though calling it a pipedream seems more fitting. Brian hadn’t known demons could hope. It honestly seems kind of hypocritical.

“I want _you_ to help me save the world,” Jae amends. 

“Why?” Brian asks. He pockets his hands, turns to look at Jae only to find him already looking back.

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Hell’s awfully boring,” Jae says, matter of act. The same way you say _bad movie boring book. Next please. I know how this one ends._ “And I like living too much to let the world end just like that.” He snaps his fingers and Brian has to laugh again. If only it were that easy, he thinks. The world’s going to go down kicking and screaming. The world's putting up a fight. 

Maybe Brian should do the same. Maybe. He says, “I won’t be much help. The prophet thing - it’s not exactly a hard science, you know. I can’t tell you how to stop it. I don’t _know_ how to stop it.”

Not that he’d have done anything to stop it even if he did. Inertia is a powerful thing and Brian’s been very pointedly not caring for a long, long while.

Jae grins. “That's okay, _I_ do.” Brian feels the rain slipping down his back and, if he shivers, he blames it on that. “For now, I just need a ride.” 

“That,” Brian fishes his truck’s keys out of his back pocket, “That I can do.”

“Well then.” Jae leans close, enough so that Brian sees the way his breath clouds white when he says, “Let’s save the world, Brian Kang.”

And Brian takes his hand, feels Jae wrap his fingers tight around his wrist, thumb on his pulsepoint as he drags Brian across the one, two steps that separate them and kisses him there, under the rain, right on the lips. 

Jae tastes like rainwater, like burned sugar and the slightest trace of sulfur. Brian thinks he hears thunder clapping, somewhere not so far away. And when they step away, Brian feels cold all over again, a bit unstable, like the world’s been tilted just slightly off its axis. 

Jae smiles, licks his lips. “That seals the deal.”

“Okay,” Brian answers, and the rain falls on. 

And Brian doesn’t know it yet but that there - this. This is the beginning of the end.


	2. Monday: The Road To You (Was Paved With Good Intentions)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take a left here,” Jae says, grinning. “We’re paying the Antichrist a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First proper chapter! A whole 20 pages ahh I'm really excited to hear what you guys think about how the story is developing!

The prophet, Jae thinks, is not exactly what he had been expecting. 

_So that’s what sadness looks like_ , was Jae’s first, unbidden, slightly depressing thought when he finally tracked Brian Kang down to that run-down bar and saw him hunching in on himself over the wooden table, like Atlas and his heavy burden, pushing him closer to the ground. 

The man had been weary, understandably. Three years on the run can do that to a person, no matter how resilient. Jae would know - he had been following Kang’s trail ever since news of Armageddon rearing its ugly head first started going around and Hell’s hackles rose to attention; ever since Jae realised time was running out and running fast. 

Jae had followed him across state borders, always just a few maddening steps behind, chasing after a winding trail of back roads and highway motels, never staying longer than a week, never lingering. But he had found him, and late is always better than never, though the countdown for this particular situation is starting to look less like a clock and more like a guillotine, poised over the whole world’s neck and ready to drop.

It wasn’t till hours later that Jae realised his first impression of the prophet had been entirely off-kilter. He’d thought there was a cloud hanging over the prophet's shoulders, but Brian Kang, Jae figures, is not so much sad as he is tired. 

There’s a heaviness to him, like he himself is the stormcloud, steadily rolling forward. Or, the falling rain, always pouring. Like he’s been walking for far too long, not being pushed down but pushed _forward_. Like he wants to stop but has forgotten how. Like inertia, come to life. Like, like. Jae’s running out of suitable metaphors.

The point, though: Brian Kang is certainly not what Jae had been expecting. Granted, when Hell said _holy carrier of the word and will of God_ , Jae’s mind went straight to old, bearded, and annoyingly cryptic, because that’s ineffability for you. Usually. Jae would know.

Brian Kang doesn't fit the bill. Jae would take offense, he would. Knowing he was so off-mark is unnerving, but it’s delightfully fascinating, too. After all there’s no fun where there’s no unpredictability. 

And unpredictability? Well, that's what life’s all about. And Jae’s all about life. So much so he’s willing to face down fate for a chance to keep it from slipping from his hands. 

When Jae had caught wind of Hell preparing for war, he had snuck down and snooped around for any information about the prophet he could get his hands on. For all of Hell’s mind-numbing bureaucracy, the file he found was oddly empty. Just a page with a name, an old address and a _kill on sight_ stamped right over it. In the flesh, Brian Kang is young, barely scraping at 25, and he hasn't got a beard either, although Jae does remember the lovely scratch of stubble when he leaned down to kiss the prophet under the rain. 

He _does_ seem to have the cryptic part of the role down, though; when Jae asked him about the end of the world, Brian had frowned out at the horizon and said, like it weighted on him, “If the world’s a stage, then it’s time for the curtain call.”

(“Poetic,” Jae had remarked, eyebrows raised high in surprise. Thought of kissing him again, maybe. He’d always had a thing for the romantic type. 

“Well,” Brian had drawled back, dry as desert dust. “I did always think I should have gone into Creative Writing instead of Business.” And left it at that.)

Jae laughs just remembering the look on the prophet’s face when he said it, like he couldn't have cared less. Brian Kang’s dry brand of humor is a surprise, but it’s certainly not an unwelcome one. There’s a long road ahead of them and good company always did make the trip easier, even if this one is shaping up to be harder than most.

His taste of music, though? _That_ Jae takes as a personal offence. 

“Your music taste sucks ass,” he tells Brian, who shoots him an unimpressed look from the driver’s seat. 

They’ve been stuck listening to the Top-40 chart on a crackling radio station for the last hour and Jae is pretty sure his ears are bleeding by now. There’s some overplayed pop-song blaring from the speakers, but it’s either that or give in to Brian’s Enya CD collection. He says it helps keeps the visions at bay, but Jae once tried to pass a petition to add those very CDs to Hell’s own personal playlist, next to New-Age Screamo and The Best Of: Christian Hymns. It got denied, sure, but Jae’s point still stands.

The dawning morning light winks at them where it reflects back off the black ice as the truck rattles on, skirting slowly along the cracked, tarmac road. It stopped raining about two hours after they got booted out of the bar and wasn’t that such a fitting start? A demon and a holy prophet, kicked out of Paradise. Thrown out in the rain. It makes Jae itch with excitement, the kind that lingers in frozen veins, the kind of hook that always comes with a line of trouble. 

It's promising, certainly.

The roads are frozen solid, the cold rolling in despite the closed windows. The old truck’s heating stopped working a few miles ago and no matter how many times Jae thumps at it, it refuses to start up back again. Brian’s lips are tinted blue, his hands tight around the steering wheel and a bemused look on his face that means he has something on his mind.

“You can just ask, you know,” Jae offers, because he may be one of Hell’s demons but he also believes that honesty goes a long way in making a partnership work. And he needs this one to do so, _badly_. More than he would like to admit. “Whatever question you’re kicking around up here.” Jae brings a finger up to his temple and grins. “I’m an open book.” He spreads out his palms.

Brian snorts, like he would be hard pressed to believe him, and okay, fair enough. Jae is well aware that his kin has been at Brian’s heels for years know, searching high and low for the prophet and turning over rocks and graves to find his trail, but it’s been five hours since they left the bar, five hours since they vowed to save the world from its impending end, and Jae hasn't tried to kill Brian even _once_. That should count for something. Seeing is believing, isn’t that what they say?

Brian’s fingers tighten their grip in the wheel, then ease up. “I just don't get it,” he says, sounding honestly confused. “I don’t get _you_. This war you’re talking about, the end of the world, aren’t you betraying your friends by trying to stop it?”

“First off,” Jae starts, “ _friends_ is kind of a stretch. That’s more Heaven’s thing, the whole Kumbaya-we’re-all-siblings-here deal. We demons - we’re coworkers at best.” At _very_ best, mostly Jae just tries to avoid the lot of them. He’s been known to hop across country borders when one of them strays too close. 

It’s not that he doesn't like the other demons, it’s more that _they_ don’t like _him_. Odd, they call him, too out-of-line. Jae prefers the term adaptable himself. He’s a modern man, you see. It’s not his fault most of the demons he knows are still stuck in the Middle Ages, leading priests into sin and stealing virgin hearts one by one since AD.

Jae keeps up with the times. LA gridlock, lagging Wi-Fi. _That’s_ the sort of things that really dredges up humanity's worst side these days. If only Hell would listen, they wouldn’t need an all-out war to overthrone Heaven.

“Besides,” he goes on at Brian’s huffed out, incredulous laugh. “It doesn't matter who wins, because the earth loses either way. The only difference between Heaven and Hell is that Hell is boringly torturous and Heaven is torturously boring. And neither of those options have sushi on their menu.” 

Jae would know, he’s had a taste of them both. He had thought things would change when he Fell, thought rebelling would open new possibilities, but Heaven and Hell are both equally as dull. 

Eternal peace or eternal damnation, Jae thinks grimly, in the end it all means the same. Stagnant time. One dull path. Jae’s spent the last half of his immortal life actually _living_ it. The world is a platter full of potential and Jae likes it too much to let it go. Not without a fight. Teeth and claws and dirty tricks. Kissing prophets under the rain - Jae’s been playing this game long enough to know when to roll the dice.

Brian laughs, then he coughs, like he’s forgotten what really laughing feels like, how it scratches on its way up. “You’re telling me food is the reason you’re willing to face off Destiny?” 

“Mostly,” Jae inclines his head, grinning, because that’s an easier answer than saying he’s in love with life, and he's always been a sucker for tragic romances. 

“So how do we do this then?” Brian asks, amusement giving way to some kind of resignation that makes his shoulder drop, his eyes dim. Jae’s vision doubles, and he’s seeing Brian driving but he’s also seeing him standing outside the bar the way he was hours ago, the way he laughed under the rain, like he was wishing it could wash him away, too.

Jae wants to pry, ask and prod until he gets down to the core of Brian Kang’s odd reactions and even stranger attitude, because he doesn’t look like a man who’s just been given the chance to save the world. He looks more like someone who’s just been told there’s been a slight change in plans, a hitch on the road he’d been walking on, and now he’s just rolling with the punches. Keep walking, keep walking. Is that what this is? 

It’s awfully interesting. Jae had been expecting doubt, distrust, joy and hope. Instead, Brian Kang reeks of apathetical acceptance. They’re on a schedule though, the hourglass is trickling sand, and as much as Jae itches to scratch at the core of Brian Kang, the world has to come first. 

“We can’t stop Armageddon,” Jae says, because he’s been called a dreamer a few too many times but he's not _stupid_. “That’s like trying to stop the Pacific with a few bags of sands. You can’t, you drown.” 

Brian makes a sound of protest at the back of his throat, but Jae holds up a hand before he can voice it. “What we _can_ do, however, is keep it from ever starting. Stop the one responsible from pulling the lever before they can even touch it. Get rid of the destroy button. You feel?”

“No,” Brian says dryly. “I don’t think I feel.”

Jae barks out a laugh. Then he stops, because Brian’s for real. Shit, but he didn’t think traveling with a _prophet_ would require this much explanation. 

“Think about it,” he prods, turning to look at Brian on the passenger seat. The light is breaking over the windshield, washing his face in reddish whites. “The Apocalypse. It doesn’t happen on its own. There’s a few players involved like, say, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? I thought the name would be a dead giveaway.”

“Right,” Brian says, and he sounds like he’s remembering something he would rather have left long buried. “Famine, Pollution...” He shivers, and Jae’s willing to bet it’s not due to the cold. “War and-”

“Death,” Jae finishes for him. “Yeah. They’re already here. I suspect they always have, but they’re gearing up now. Ebola, the Middle East - that’s all preparation for what’s to come.” 

The second, final Big Bang. Set to hit six days from now. It’s certainly a daunting thought, but if there’s one thing Jae likes more than causing trouble, it’s laughing in the face of it.

Brian doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Six days,” he says, a wry, downwards pull to his mouth. “I’ve seen it in my dreams. My visions. The world is ending, and they’re always there when it happens.” He stops. “But there’s also-”

Jae nods. He says, “A kid.” And If Brian takes offense to Jae finishing his sentences for him, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods at Jae’s words, eyes on the road but seeing something much, much farther ahead. “The Prince of Hell. Lucifer’s Son, kind of the Antichrist. He was cute as a baby. I would guess that’s changed a bit by now.” 

Brian makes a choked off noise, like he caught himself in the middle of laughing and remembered not to midday through. He looks at Jae out of the corner of his eyes, half disbelieving and half amused. It’s a look he’s been giving Jae a lot. 

“Cute,” he deadpans. “The Prince of Hell.” 

“Very,” Jae reaffirms, remembering pink cheeks and dark eyes. It’s funny, Jae thinks, how humans insists on the devil wearing hooves and a tail and then turn around and swear they were made in God’s image, like they just mirror the good side, like the bad side didn’t come from them, too. 

“But he’s about to turn eleven now. In exactly six days,” he goes on, trying to stress the time issue because honestly Brian’s drives like a grandma. “We need to get to him before the Horsemen do; _they’re_ the ones who’re doing the actual destroying-the-whole-world thing, but the kid’s the key. I don’t really know how that’s supposed to work, frankly. Wasn’t paying much attention when they briefed us on that down there.” 

He points downwards, remembering the awfully dull conference he had to sit through. The kind of bureaucratic bullshit he’s going to have to live through if Hell wins this war. “If we don’t, well. We’re screwed, basically. The whole world goes down swinging, captain and all.”

“Right, “Brian says again. He takes a breath, rakes a hand down his black hair and Jae very pointedly does not stare. Old, bearded and cryptic, he thinks. Jae is _very_ glad he got it so wrong. “Do you at least know where the kid is?” 

Jae scoffs. “Of course. I don’t just wing things, you know.” Which, well - Bullshit. Jae is the first to admit he tends to jump the gun more often than not. The other demons, they used to say he didn’t so much Fall as trip his way out of Heaven. And well. Well. Jae’s not one for planning ahead, but what Brian doesn’t know can’t hurt him. 

Jae fishes a piece of paper out of his pocket. It’s old and worn at the edges, but the address printed on it in blood-red lettering is still very much legible.

“Take a left here,” Jae says, grinning. “We’re paying the Antichrist a visit.”

* * *

Sunnyside Eastern Park is not exactly what Brian had pictured, but as things stand, he’s starting to learn to expect the unexpected as far as this impromptu trip is concerned. 

And maybe Brian should have thought this twice - thought thrice, thought _through_ \- before he let a demon hop on his truck and whine about the lack of good music, before he decided to tempt fate by going directly against it. Maybe. But the thing is, he didn’t, and now it’s a bit too little and a bit too late to start regretting the choices he didn’t make. 

(And honestly, his whole _life_ could be surmised by that. Skirting choices, not making the good ones. But it’s hard to overcome inertia, he supposes, and bad habits are hard to break.)

The first surprise was the demon himself. Jaehyung or just Jae - _we’re saving the world together, might as well get comfortable with each other_. The demon had leered when he said it and Brian couldn’t help but run his tongue over his lips, still lingering with the stubborn aftertaste of burned sugar. 

Jae, the demon, and Brian feels like he should make a point of reminding himself just what exactly Jae is, because he certainly isn’t like the other ones Brian’s had the displeasure of meeting. Those one had been sharp smiles fitted inside even sharper suits - Hell’s own personal businessmen, ready for the kill.

Jae, though, he’s a bit like the understudy that got caught unawares - he knows the lines, but he hasn't got the attitude. With the morning light creeping in, Jae’s starting to lose that steeled edge that came out to play when he threatened to skewer a guy with a cue stick, the one that made Brian’s instincts call out _danger!_ when his eyes first flashed hellfire red back at the bar. 

And that’s dangerous, forgetting. Brian knows where exactly too much trust can lead to, namely bad situations he can’t get out of, skimming by the edge of his teeth. And Brian remembers Terry, he remembers the fire, can still taste bitter ash on his tongue. His mother’s death is still fresh on his mind even if she’s been six feet under for years now. He can’t afford to trust too fast, too soon. Not again. 

But Jae makes it hard. He laughs easily, openly, whines about the lack of good music and looks so much like a college student, like Brian had been before, that Brian can imagine he’s human, too. 

And maybe it’s because Brian’s been alone for so long now that he can’t remember the last time he woke up to a sound beside his own clamoring thoughts. As much as he tries to remind himself that alone doesn't necessarily have to mean _lonely_ , that he’s fine really, thanks for asking - the line has certainly started to blur. And well, Hell for the company, isn’t that how the saying goes? 

The world is ending. They have six days left to live if they don’t manage to pull this off, and there’s not much left for Brian to screw up, even if Jae’s smiles look a bit too much like Brian’s long string of bad decisions.

The truck comes to a stop.

“ _This_ is where the Antichrist lives?” Brian raises an incredulously eyebrow, sweeping his eyes over the trailer park Jae, the demon, lead them to and finding it lacking. 

Sunnyside is a far cry from what its name would suggest. The park is maybe a few miles wide, circled by a wrought iron fence that looks a strong gust of wind from caving in on itself. The grass is yellowed and outgrown, and Brian can see garbage bags spilling out over it. There’s a dozen trailers or so, parked along the patches of dark mulch.

The wind blows. Brian’s nose twitches. Instead of cleansing, the rain from last night has sharpened the smell of trash into something putrid and tangy. 

Lips pursed, Jae squints at the morning sun.

“It wasn’t this bad when I left him here a decade ago,” he says somewhat grimly, checking over the address and then pocketing it swiftly. He ambles forward. Brian follows, carefully picking his way so as not to step into the mud puddles littered all around.

“Why did you bring him here?” Brian asks. 

“It wasn’t like I had a choice.” Jae shrugs. “I got promoted, then Hell handed me a basket with a baby on it and told me where to drop it off.”

Brian tries to wrap his head around that, finds he can’t, and gives up with a sigh.

“Anyways,” Jae says, after Brian stays silent. “We better hurry. Time’s a ticking, prophet.” he clicks his tongue, grins, and then pushes at the park’s gate so they open with with a creaky groan.

Somin Park, Jae had said, the name of the Antichrist's surrogate mother. Brian scans the names on the trailer’s plate in search of it, coming up empty. 

He can’t imagine living here, he thinks, in this forgotten patchwork of civilization. Brian’s own childhood was almost picture-perfect, at least until it wasn’t. He liked living in Canada, loved it even. Three years on the run and he still remembers those long Summers and even longer Winters with bittersweet fondness. Sure, there had been the nightmares, the visions it took Brian far too long to recognize as more than bad dreams, and his mom had had to raise him alone after the divorce. 

But still, with the way the present is going, with what the future is promising to become, the past certainly looks better in comparison, even if it’s tinted in rose.

They’re cutting it close to the edge of the park when Brian spots it. It’s an old trailer, one of the best, though that doesn’t mean much given the state of most of them. There’s a crooked metal plate with the name _Somin Park_ hanging from one of the windows, another one under it with a child’s handwriting swirling across it, through the child’s has been furiously scratched out.

“There,” Brian says, grabbing Jae by the elbow before he can think about what it means and steering him towards the right spot. Jae grins back at him, gaze flitting down to Brian’s lips with curious intent. Brian swallows, lets go. The voice is back, growing fainter. _Careful, careful_ , it says, a whispered warning in Brian’s head. _Trust too much and you’re done for._

Jae kicks a flat football out of the way and knocks twice on the trailer door. There’s a rattle inside, the sound of footsteps. The shutters from the window beside the door flutter open and close faster than a blink, and then a woman’s voice calls out, cracked through with a cough. “Whatever it is you’re selling, I ain’t buying. There’s no money here!”

“This is not that kind of business!” Jae calls back, cheery but growing more impatient when the seconds tick by and the door remains stubbornly close. 

“Ma’am,” Brian tries after a while. “We’re here because of your son.”

If they were expecting a reaction, they get one. There’s a sharp intake of breath somewhere inside that sounds a bit too much like fear, retreating footsteps that ring frantic in the otherwise silent space. The the voice comes back, this time thinner and stuttering. “That _thing_ is not my son.” 

The last word it’s spat out like the vilest of curses, hushed like a shameful secret. Brian and Jae share a glance. Then Jae says, “We just want to talk to him.” 

“No,” the woman spits out. The door slams open, forcing Jae to take a step back. His back thuds against Brian’s chest, and Brian comes face to face with a pale-looking woman. Her eyes are thin with fear and wide in her small, shallow face, her teeth lipstick stained when she says, “If you’re looking for him, then stop. I’m warning you now. He’s no good, that child. A mistake.” 

“Ma’am.” Brian takes a step forward, hands spread out in a fruitless attempt to keep her calm. She’s rearing from a fight or flight instinct and it’s clear which side has won out.

“I got rid of him ages ago,” she says, gaze flitting around over their shoulders, like she’s afraid something is going to come for her. Or rather, someone. “I don’t want anything to do with him. _Go away_.”

She slams the door in their faces, and no many how many times Jae knocks again, how insistently Brian calls out to her, it remains firmly shut.

“Well,” Jae drawls, in the aftermath. “That went well.” And his voice is so thick with sarcasm Brian is surprised he doesn’t choke on it. The demon brings a hand up to his face, rubs at the bridge of his nose. “This is _so_ not going according to plan. Fuck.”

“You don’t say,” Brian snarks back. Jae looks unimpressed, but even that is better than the deadened look he had been wearing before. Brian’s seen how hopelessness looks on a person too many times not to recognize it - most of those in the mirror - and it’s that same look that washed over Jae’s face just for a moment before it was covered up, but it was there.

_I got rid of him ages ago._ The woman’s voice rings around Brian’s head, and if Brian is feeling mildly discouraged then he can’t imagine what the demon must be feeling right now. 

It’s obvious that Jae has much riding on this plan. As bizarre as it is and as off-guard as it had caught Brian, Jae does genuinely want to save the world. Brian doesn’t get it, doesn’t get _him_. Maybe it’s because he’s had years to get used to the idea that the world is going to end, maybe it’s because he’s already seen it happen countless times when he closes his eyes and dreams not-dreams of the future. Thing is, the Apocalypse doesn’t feel as fearsome to Brian as he thinks it should. 

It’s just - the end of the line. A reprieve. Brian thinks of the end of the world as going to sleep and simply not waking up anymore. 

(Or maybe, a part of him whispers, a part long ago buried and close to forgotten, it has nothing to do with the time or his visions. Maybe it has nothing to do with that, but with the fact that it’s easier to accept the end when you never started living in the first place.)

“Fuck,” Jae says, and the word sounds heavy, like it means more than Jae can handle at the moment. “Fuck. How did no one Below find out about this?”

Brian stays silent, lets Jae sulk. He watches detachedly as the demon kicks around the mulch and sends things flying. The flat football hits the fence, an empty can rattles against the wheels of the trailer. There’s a curse from inside and a bang on the window. Jae perks up at the sound, then slumps over when the door locks with a telltale click. 

“Are you done?” Brian asks him. Jae shrugs, expression brooding, and Brian has to bite down on a chuckle even as he tilts his head to the side and barrels on, “because that kid’s been watching us since we got here, and I think she knows something we don’t.” 

That gets Jae to lift up his head. 

Brian had noticed the girl a soon as the door closed. She had been surreptitiously watching them from behind a brown trailer, eyes curious and mouth pursed. Now, when she catches them looking back, she ducks down, blonde hair flying to cover her eyes. Brian watches how her shoulders square, some kind of slapstick courage makes her straighten. A breath, two, and then she’s hurrying over to them with bare feet and determined eyes.

“Hey, kiddo,” Jae greets her easily. Gone is the frustration from before. Jae’s voice is as careful as the hand he stretches out towards the little girl - no more than seven, bruises and mud on her knees, eyes just that little bit hungry. 

The girl hesitates. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, hands going down to grip at the hem of her shirt, and she says, “I heard you talking. You’re - you’re looking for Dowoon, aren’t you?”

Dowoon. The Korean name is awkward on her tongue and completely unfamiliar to Brian’s ears, but Jae’s eyes light up in recognition. They flicker red, and his smile grows wider in pleased surprise.

“Yeah,” he says, voice still as careful as a spring wind, doing his best not to scare the girl away. He crouches down next to her, unmindful of the mud. “Do you know where he went?” 

The girl shakes her head and Jae’s smile slips for a moment. Before the frustration can creep back in, the girl says, “His uncle came and took him away _years_ ago. But I remember him. He played tag with me when he was still around.” 

“Did he now?” Jae asks, and Brian can already see the gears turning inside his head. He’s been handed a lead to follow, and he’s sinking his teeth right into it 

“Yeah.” The girl nods. “We used to play hide and seek, and he taught me the best places to hide. He even gave me candy when he had them. And he made my dad go away, too. Hey mister, do _you_ have any candy?”

Brian doesn’t mean to, but he freezes. Jae also looks down at the girl in quiet surprise. His lips twist down in disappointment for a flash of a moment, then his face smoothes out into a secretive smile. 

“Let’s see,” he hums, grinning wide as he reaches forward to the side of the girl’s face, who blinks wide eyes his way. With a flourish and a quick twist of his fingers, Jae produces a rolled-up candy out of what Brian is pretty sure was just empty air a second ago. It seems to come right out the girl’s ear, glinting in the sun in bright, cherry red. 

The girl gasps, smiling gap-toothed up at Jae when he hands it to her. “That was cool! Are you a magician, mister? Like those on the TV? With the hats and the rabbits and the magic wands?”

Jae smiles, softer this time around, and pats her on the head softly. “Something of the sort.”

“He wasn’t a good dad,” the girl adds then, seeming like an afterthought. She munches on the hard candy, smacking her lips. “I know the things auntie says about Dowoon, but he was nice. Not good but - nice.” She shrugs. “My mom is happier now that dad is gone anyways.”

Somewhere behind her, a woman shouts at her to come back, quick. The girl turns back, nods at them like she’s proud of her work, and then sets off with one last thanks thrown Jae’s way.

“Right.” Jae rises to his feet, patting his knees to get rid of the mud. It doesn’t really work. “The uncle, huh.” 

“Seems like it,” Brian says. Then he adds, “Neat trick.” Trying not mask his curiosity and not making it halfway. 

Jae laughs, rubbing at his cheek in mild embarrassment before he realises what he's doing and makes his expression turn smug instead. “Demon magic,” he says, wiggling his fingers. “We create trouble, which means we create, period. You human are full of misconceptions. The angels, _those_ are the real bastards. They just go around smiting everything and everyone to pieces.”

Brian hums, wonders just what else humanity got wrong. He can still see the little girl out of the corner of his eye, the bony knees, the way she reaches for her mother’s sleeve, the way her mother smoothes a hand down her hair lovingly, like she’s something precious. Then he thinks back to the woman inside the trailer and the way she had spat out so viciously at them for bringing up thoughts of her own kid. He scowls.

“You’re wondering why Hell put him here,” Jae guesses, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Brian. 

“Yeah,” Brian agrees. “I mean, this doesn’t exactly come to mind when you say Prince of Hell.”

Jae exhales, long and tired. “I know. I was surprised at first, too, but then they explained it to us. The kid - he’s not necessarily _bad_. Sure, he _could_ be, but he also could not. He’s just-” Jae waves a hand around, trying to encompass more than Brian can even begin to guess at. “ -he’s _potential_. Tons of it. Potential to be bad, but just as easily potential to be good. And Hell couldn’t take that chance.”

He shrugs. “So they put him here, thinking that if he grew up shunned and badly cared for then the potential for the bad would win out. Eventually. Guess they didn’t count on someone taking him away.” 

Jae sighs, then he straightens, grin sliding into place like a glove. “C’mon,” he says. “It seems we have a new lead to follow.”

He starts walking in the direction of the gate. Brian has to steer him clear of any spots of mud as he takes out a sleek, black phone and starts tapping away at it. 

“Sungjin Park,” Jae says after a while, apropos of nothing.” Second generation Korean immigrant, graduated from Cerritos college as a teacher in 2014. Now living in Crestline, California, and housing his supposed nephew, who is in fact, the Antichrist.” 

“And you found this how?” Brian asks, pulling Jae in closer to his side so he doesn’t trip over a stray food can. 

“Googled it.” Jae grins easily, waving his phone back and forth. “Facebook, such a magical thing. Can save you countless hours of research.” 

“Uhu,” Brian says, and he’s about to ask more about it, but then Jae freezes, body locking up and face going plenty shades paler than it was before. 

“What?” Brian asks. “What is it?” 

Jae doesn’t answer. He’s looking straight ahead, eye deadset on the police car sliding rapidly up the road to the gate. The car’s sirens are off, but the lights are turned on, flashing red and blue and drawing closer. 

“Cops?” Brian asked, bewildered. “Are you seriously scared of cops?”

“Not _cops_ ,” Jae grits out. “Though those can be a real pain in the ass, too.” He forces a smile on his face just as the car comes to a stop in front of them and two policemen stalk out, doors slamming close behind them. “But no. This is much, much worse than that.”

“Good morning,” one of the policemen greets them, ambling forward and tipping his head in an easy nod. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, built in a way that makes Brian self-conscious. He’s also smiling very politely, but there’s something off about the expression. It’s probably about eighty percent teeth. 

The other one is shorter, more stocky. This one isn’t smiling, and Brian has to wonder why he takes that as a comfort. 

They both come to a stop before them, flanking them left and right. The tall one says, “All hail Satan, our Lord and Saviour.” 

“All hail,” Jae answers, sounding pained.

“All hail,” echoes the other cop - well, Brian figures, trying not to shiver, not cop. _Demon_. And it’s clear now, because up close these guys certainly don’t look like cops, but more like they’re _playing_ cops. Their uniforms are pristine, and each of them look like they’ve been plucked right out of a sitcom. Good Cop and Bad Cop. Although with the way they both seem to loom Brian figures there’s really no Good Cop here.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jae says with pressed upon politeness. He sounds like he’s making small-talk next to the water cooler and suffering because of it. “Alastor. Barbatos.” He nods his head in each of the demons’ direction. “I thought you were working in the Tax Department?” 

“Got promoted,” one of them grunts. The tall one - Alastor, maybe. Brian isn’t sure. He's too busy trying to keep himself from booking it to his truck and flooring the pedal. It’s instinct by now, to tuck tail and run when confronted with one of Hell’s spawns. The last time he encountered one of them was in Michigan, six months ago, and he barely escaped with his head on his shoulders. 

“Congratulations,” Jae replies dryly. His shoulders are taut with tension. “Much less paperwork.”

“And just in time for the great battle, too,” the short one adds, looking smug. “We’ve been sent to check on the demon child. Get everything ready for the great day. You know, classified information.” His voice deepens with pride. “Not something someone of your station would know about.” He sneers, and even with Jae towering over him Brian has the distinct feeling that he’s looking at them both down his nose. 

“Yes, top secret, but not as exciting as going prophet hunting, if you ask me.” Alastor crosses his arms, making his muscle bulge. Brian swallows, and Jae shoots him a look that clearly states _do not move an inch _. “Now _that’s _a promotion worth gunning for. Scouts gets all the excitement.”____

__“You’ll get there, big guy,” Jae answers reassuringly, or what’s supposed to pass for it, at least. He’s standing as still as a wound-up coil. Ready to spring. He inches closer to Brian, one hand hovering over the bend of Brian’s elbow, like he’s just waiting to grab him and run._ _

__Honestly, Brian wishes he would._ _

__Barbatos lets his gaze sweep across them both. Then he frowns, face darkening in suspicion. “And what are _you_ doing here, Amy? Last I heard you had been relocated to the western colonies. You’re supposed to be serving your punishment there. Don’t think we’ve forgotten.” _ _

__Brian half-wants to turn around and search for this Amy person, uncomfortable that he missed the presence of another demon. Danger. Everything screams of danger._ _

__Then Jae opens his mouth and answers, voice long suffering, “States, Barbatos. They’re called States now. No more colonies.”_ _

__“Same thing, same thing,” Alastor waves it away. “But answer the question, Amy. You’re not supposed to be wandering around.” Then his eyes settled on Brian, and they narrow even further, turning into slits. “And you, who are you?”_ _

__“This is uh, Barry,” Jae says, wincing. “From Accounting, he’s helping me with a little problem, you see. Sorry I can’t say more, but I’ve got a classified mission of my own to work on.”_ _

__Barbatos laughs, but there’s no amusement there, just a mean, mocking edge Brian is used to hearing from eighth grade bullies in schoolyard fights. “ _You?_ Promoted? C’mon, Amy, after all the trouble you caused with that one angel there is no way the boss would trust you with something as important as what he has given me.”_ _

__“Given _us_ ,” points out Alastor, now frowning too._ _

__“Us. Yes. Whatever.” Barbatos rolls his eyes. “Out with it, Amy, what are you doing here so close to the little prince?”_ _

__Jae ‘s smile is all strained around the edges, his laughs rings weak and hollow. His grip on Brian’s elbow tightens. “I’d love to stay and chat, guys, I really would, but that is a luxury I just can’t afford.” He goes to sidesteps the demons, pulling Brian along._ _

__“Wait,” Alastor grunts, one hand clamping down on Jae’s shoulder as he muscles him back into place. His eyes flash red, nostrils flaring. His eyes settle on Brian, target-locked. “Barry, you said?”_ _

__“We _really_ have to go-” Jae tries. At the same time, Barbatos lets out a howl like a wounded hound and points right at Brian with a clawed finger. _ _

__“There’s no Barry in Accounting!” He shouts. “And he’s _no demon_!”_ _

__“Fuck,” Jae mutters, then he straightens, pushing Brian behind him like he’s a shield and Brian something to protect. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way then.”_ _

__A heartbeat. Jae fishes something out of his coat pocket, takes it out with a flourish, and points it straight at Alastor’s head._ _

__“What is that,” Barbatos spits out, momentarily hesitant. Alastor goes cross-eyes trying to get a look at what Jae is pointing between his eyes and Brian has to bite down on a curse when he realises Jae’s threatening the demons with a flimsy, orange-tipped, neon green _water gun._ _ _

__“Don’t make me use it,” Jae warns and okay, Brian knows demons can be stupid, but they’re also plenty vicious, and Brian is betting they’re not scared of children toys._ _

__Turns out, he’s right. Alastor laughs mockingly at the sight of the plastic gun and lunges forward, claws out. Going straight for Jae’s throat. Too late, Brian shouts out a warning, feeling dread pooling inside his stomach and Jae -_ _

__Jae squeezes the plastic trigger. A drizzle of water goes splattering all over the demon’s face. Jae smiles._ _

__And Alastor? He screams bloody murder, his whole body flinching back like he’s been burned. And he _has_. Before the demon covers his face with his hands Brian catches sight of it, and the skin is melting right out of his skull, like butter left out in the sun. It’s gross. The dread in Brian’s stomach turns to disgust when he hears a sickening sizzling sound as Alastro drops down to his knees._ _

__“ _Traitor!_ ” Balastor snarls. “Bastard! You’re going to pay for this!” _ _

__“Watch your profanities,” Jae says mildly, plastic gun now pointing at Barbatos himself, who takes a step back in obvious fear despite the anger that’s pulling his whole face into a menacing snarl._ _

__“Now,” Jae starts, voice dipped in steel. “I’m gonna take my friend here and go, and you’re gonna stay there like a good boy and wait, okay? Okay.”_ _

__He grabs Brian’s elbow with the hand that isn’t holding the gun, then starts retreating. The water gun is still trained firmly on Barbator’s furious face._ _

__“You were always the worst of us. Always a disappointment, Amy,” Balastor spits out at him. “But _this_ -” he snarls, and whatever he was going to say after that gets lost when Jae sprays him, too._ _

__“Run,” Jae tells Brian when the demon goes down screaming._ _

__Brian does. He follows after Jae as the demons sprints towards their truck. Jae climbs on the passenger seat and then pushes down on the gas like there’s demons biting on his heels, which well. They might as well be._ _

__Brian only finds his voice when Sunnyside is long lost in the horizon. He turns to look at Jae, who’s sweating buckets and very pointedly focusing only on driving in one general direction: away._ _

__“What was that?” Brian asks, forcing his voice not to waver. “The gun, I mean.” He sure would have liked to have one of those with him when he was on the run. It certainly would have make things a bit easier._ _

__“Holy water,” Jae answers, grimacing. “It was a pain to get my hands on it and I hate carrying it around, makes me nervous and fucking itchy, man, but I figured - better safe than sorry, right? I expected to run into trouble with my uh, kin, at some point.” He sighs, twisting his head to look behind them. “Not _this_ soon, though.”_ _

__“Will they be a problem?” Brian asks, fighting the urge to turn around and make sure there’s no cop car following after them._ _

__“Not at the moment, no. Demons heal fast, but holy water is basically our kryptonite. They still need to check on the kid anyways and once they figure out he's as good as gone they’ll have to inform Hell, which will slow them down considerably. The amount of paperwork that will take...” He shudders. “Best not to imagine.”_ _

__“Not to say Hell won’t send any more demons after us, though. They’re bound to sent a party when they get news that I’ve defected.” He glances sideways at Brian and grins slowly. “Having any regrets yet?”_ _

__“I think it’s too late for that,” Brian answers, grinning back despite himself. His heart, which had been somewhere up in his throat during the whole encounter, is finally slowing down to a steady, thumping beat. He reaches a hand up to his chest, feels it kick back against his ribcage. It’s been a while, he thinks, since he’s felt this kind of alive._ _

__Jae laughs, shaking his head like he's caught between pleased and surprised. His blond hair falls into his eyes in a sweep, makes him look sweeter. Like sugar, Brian thinks, then stops his thoughts right there._ _

__Brian coughs, taking his eyes away from the sight that’s Jae. “So,” he starts, trying to will the sudden surge of warmth away from his chest. It’s the adrenaline, he thinks. It must be. “Amy, huh?”_ _

__“Oh shut up,” Jae protests, playfully pushing at Brian’s side with a hand and tipping him sideways. “It’s my demon name, okay? Don’t go around using it. I hate it, it’s not exactly what you’d fear-inspiring.”_ _

__Brian raises an eyebrow. “And Jae is?”_ _

__“It’s a long story,” Jae warns, but there’s no bite to his tone and Brian can’t help but wonder if this story has anything to do with that punishment of his Alastor and Barbatos were talking about. “And it’s a long way to California, too. I don’t need you making jokes at my expense the whole way down.”_ _

__Maybe not, Brian thinks, but Jae is kind of cute when he’s flustered, and any kind of reservations he had about the demon’s true intentions went away with the first of Alastor’s screams. The road stretching ahead of them is certainly long, but Brian thinks maybe it won’t be so bad._ _

__Hell for the company, right? Jae smiles at him from the driver’s seat, eyes alight and carefree. The voice telling him to be careful is growing fainter with each mile and all Brian can do is kick back on the passenger seat and settle in for the ride._ _

* * *

__Somewhere not so for away, an angel sits on a bench and wonders, something which, when you happen to be an angel, is quite a dangerous thing to do._ _

__The angel looks down at his hands, wiggling his fingers. He’s been wearing this body for a while now, a few centuries maybe, but under the falling snow it manages to look almost new. Pale and white and blank like a canvas he could fill up if he wanted to._ _

__He’s still wondering, still tilting on the edge, when he hears a flutter in front of him. There’s the quiet sound of ruffling feathers, and a human-like figure blinks into place at the edge of the snow-covered street._ _

__The angel sighs. The figure approaches and, although its bare feet are certainly touching the ground, they leave no marks in the snow, no impression in the white expanse._ _

__Carefully, the figure takes a seat by the angel’s side, says with a voice like winter, “I bring news, brother.”_ _

__The angel dips his head in acknowledgement. “All good, I hope?”_ _

__The figure, shaped now more like a man and less like the afterimage of grace it was before - the white spots dancing at the edge of one’s vision - smiles a slow smile that shouldn’t read as pleased as it does._ _

__“The enemy seems to have misplaced the Antichrist,” he says. “Without him, Hell is at a disadvantage. Soon the celestial battle will take place and we will have our victory over the forces of evil, once and for all. It has been written.”_ _

__“But the Horsemen still ride,” the angel points out, watching as a group of children trudge by, pelting each other with snowballs and shrieking at the cold touch of snow. “The prophet-”_ _

__“Will be taken care of. All in due time, brother.” The smile he gives the other angel has the same feeling of a chiding pat on the hand. The angel has to fight not to bristle at the sight. “He will be dealt with. You have your orders, Raziel.”_ _

__“Wonpil,” the angel says, enunciating each syllable with great care. “I go by Wonpil now, Uriel.”_ _

__Uriel's lips curl in what would be called disgust were he less dignified. Were he a bit more human. “You’ve spent too much time on earth, Raziel.” He curls up his upper lip. “Though I suppose that’s why you’ve been chosen to carry out this particular mission. Do not fail, else there will be consequences.”_ _

__“Consequences,” Wonpil echoes, watching the trails in the snow. “They require a cause first, do they not?”_ _

__“Your _cause_ is with Him,” Uriel replies cuttingly, voice as thin as a blade. “And your place is with Heaven. You’d do well to remember that, Raziel.”_ _

__“Wonpil,” Wonpil says, and this time there’s no hiding the sneer on the other angel’s face when he hears the human name pass the angel’s lips. “Please, brother. It was a gift.”_ _

__“Gift or not, names hold power,” Uriel replies, matter of fact. “Be careful brother, lest your name becomes you.”_ _

__Raziel dips his head in acknowledgement once again. Stays quiet, for he’s learned how to choose his battles, and he knows this one he won’t win._ _

__Uriel stands up, brushing stray snow off his robe. “You have your orders,” he says. “For the right side to win, the celestial battle has to take place. You know this. The prophet can’t be allowed to roam free any longer. Find him, Raziel. And kill him when you do.”_ _

__“Of course, brother,” the angel answers, and watches as Uriel disappears with a flutter and the slightest displacement of air._ _

__Wonpil sits there for a long while, wondering. The children are all gone by the time he stands up to leave. The sun is gone, too. The night turned colder in its absence, though Wonpil himself can barely feel the winter breeze._ _

__He watches the children’s messy tracks along the snow, their small weight pushed down like an imprint on the world. Wonpil wonders, and then he walks away, and when he leaves, he leaves no trace and no footprints to follow._ _

* * *

__(And, somewhere a bit farther way, Dowoon Park turns in his sleep and dreams, for the most part unaware, of the world cracking down the middle and breaking apart in two.)_ _


	3. Tuesday: By A Stroke Of Luck (Or A Bit Of Divine Intervention)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons are stupid, Wonpil decides. This one most of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for this chapter: some violence, but it's all like, comic-book level violence. Also Brian has some Issues, but I'm very bad at deciding what's angst or not. Personally I don't think this counts, but just to be safe, heads up for that at the start of the chapter. That said I do hope you guys enjoy this! I'd love to hear what you guys think!

Being a prophet doesn’t really work how people think it does. It’s not an exact science, Brian was being truthful when he told Jae so. He _still_ doesn't know why exactly the demon insisted on bringing him along when he’s really no better than a glorified fortune cookie. The end of the world - Brian only gets glimpses of it, impressions. A movie cut short. Only the plot is, well. The end itself. 

The visions come to him in dreams, more often than not, and they stick, never fading. Brian used to draw them as a kid, when he still didn’t know what they meant. Four crayon figure-sticks riding across the bottom of a white paper sheet smeared in red. A smaller figure, scrawled in the middle. A date, seared into his mind. 

But that was it. No way to stop it, no choice but to take it. 

He remembers a time when his mother forced him to attend Sunday school. Remembers being stuffed inside a scratchy shirt, buttoned up to the neck like a noose. His feet feeling cramped inside shined black leather shoes. He remembers, distantly, being bored to death by the lessons of ancient men heralding a golden age that never came. Remembers a time where his nightmare didn’t come crawling out of his head, when the world was big and wide and forever spinning. 

It was a pretty lie. Still is, but Brian knows now, the earth was built upon pillars on salt, and they’re all crumbling down.

Brian would laugh at the irony of it. People have been predicting the Apocalypse since the world first started turning on its axis and now that it’s just around the corner, five days away and counting, people are none the wiser. 

And maybe it’s better that way. Easier. Brian watches the empty streets as the truck trudges by some sleepy Iowa backwater town and imagines them filled to the brim with frantic, panic-stricken people. Everyone running away from a disaster that closes in from all directions. North and South. East to West. Four walls caving in. 

Ever since he turned twenty, when he first realised his dreams were not dreams at all but _visions_ , snapshots of a not so distant future, he wondered how humanity would react if told point-blank that it had an expiration date. 

He knows how _he_ reacted, at least. It was much like clicking a radio into standby mode, hearing it whisper static back to open air, just waiting for the moment someone would come around and - plug it off. 

His mom, thinking Brian was uncertain about career choices of all things, had told him, gently, _You’ll figure it sweetheart, that's just how it is. That’s life._

Brian doesn’t think he ever did. Figure it out, that is. Sure, he attended college, went to parties, made some friends. He played it all by ear. Business School was _working_ , but then Terry showed his true colors, and his mother paid the price, and Brian stood face to face with the fact that his nightmares were breaking past the boundaries of his head, spilling out into world. 

Tragedies, Brian knows now, are not defined by the lack of a happy ending. Tragedies are build by Fate; brought to life by the deep-set knowledge that no matter how fast you run from it, how steadily you try to walk away, it’s all been written, it’s all been said. And there’s nothing, not a thing you can do to change it. 

Life, Brian thinks, it’s a really bad fucking joke.

He sighs, leaning his head against the truck. It’s like that, he thinks, Brian’s just waiting for someone to come and unplug the world. It’s just - It’s hard to care much about things when you know humanity is on a pretty tight deadline. 

At least, he thinks, that’s how it was.

“Let’s stop for the day,” Jae says and his voice cracks over a drawn-out yawn, making Brian look up at him. The night is dark, the road bleak. Still, there’s a glint to Jae’s eyes that looks a lot like fire. Far-off stars, maybe. Or maybe that’s just Brian, too tired to think properly. 

“We’ve been driving for hours,” Jae says. Whines, more like. ”I need to _sleep_.” Another yawn, and the truck swerves dangerously across the road when Jae lifts his hands off the wheel to cover his mouth. 

“Watch it!” Brian yells, reaching forward. He makes a frantic grab for the wheel and steers them back to the right side of the highway just as a loading truck whizzes past them, dangerously close. He frowns at Jae, who grins lazily back at him in complete unrepentance. 

“See,” he says, voice pleased and sugar-sweet, like he’s won something. “I need a break. And a shower. Some food would be great, too. Or a power nap at the very least. All this beauty takes effort, you know.”

“What beauty,” Brian snorts because Jae looks ragged, a bit crazed, red flickering like flames in his eyes. He doesn’t look bad, per se, but it’s clear they’ve been cut off from life’s most simple luxuries. Like combs, for once. Or shaving cream.

But honestly, Brian thinks as he catches sight of his own tired face in the rearview mirror, he has no place to comment. They’ve been driving nonstop ever since they ran away from Sunnyside and they’re both beginning to stink. There’s an ache throbbing behind Brian’s eyes. It won’t let up. 

At least they’ve made progress, he thinks. Brian’s truck is old and prone to overheating, but one day on the road and they’ve managed to leave Ohio behind. Brian is not sure about where they are - Iowa, though where exactly is anyone’s guess - but if Jae is the one asking for a break then they must be able to afford it. The demon’s been keeping a pretty tight schedule. 

It’s not long before Jae drives them to stop in front of a small, squat building. The neon sign in the front of the motel flashes a bright, neon blue VACANCY. It’s a relief to see, and Brian can’t bring himself to care about the ramshackled state of the place as they trudge inside. 

The clock behind the wooden counter reads a few minutes past 1 AM. Brian eyes droop just looking at it. His shoulders, too. God, he didn’t know he was _this_ tired until he had to stand up and walk.

There’s a bored-looking kid sitting behind the desk, idly flipping through a magazine that looks like it came straight out from the 70s. He’s chewing on gum, and he smacks it right in Jae’s face when the demon saunters up to the front desk and asks for a room. 

“There’s only one left,” he says, matter of fact. “One bed. Queen size.” 

Brian wants to protest, but he’s tired, his brian sluggish and his words lazy. For all of Jae’s own claims of fatigue he’s very quick to snatch up the keys the kid dangles in front of him. He hands over the money and the boy sends them off with a wink. 

“C’mon,” he directs at Brian over his shoulder, then doubles back from where he was already past the foyer to drag Brian in the right direction. “ _C’mon_. Don’t fall asleep on your feet.”

Brian makes a valiant effort to do as told, but the moment he steps into the room he goes down, his body finally giving way to exhaustion as he falls head first on top of the bed, dirty clothes and muddied boots and weary bones.

Dimly, he’s aware of Jae somewhere behind him turning off the light, sighing.

* * *

At the same time, three people converge at the outskirts of a park somewhere in the MidWest. 

Actually, it’d be more accurate to say three Disasters. Emphasis on the capital D. Of the natural and manmade kind both. As it is, though, the flow of time rushes forwards because that's about the only thing it’s ever known how to do and, like a river, it drags the stones of change along with it. 

And change, well. Even simple words such as ‘monster’ can be subjected to it. 

“Well,” the first one comments. He’s got a sleazy grin on his face, and when he tilts his head to the side in regard of the other two his oil-black hair glints with the slick shine of grease. “Isn’t this nice.”

“Long due, it’s what I’d say,” the woman replies. She’s short, blonde, stunningly beautiful, and currently carefully inspecting her reflection on a hand-held mirror. She snaps it close with a click, looks around the otherwise empty park. “And lacking, too, apparently.”

“We’re missing one guest from the party, yes,” the first man agrees easily. He shakes his head, and litter falls to the floor as if he were shaking the leaves away from his hair. 

“He’s around,” the third and final figure says. He’s a big man fitted inside a too-small suit. He’s got a briefcase by his side, and he looks like any other businessman out there, right down to the dark hunger in his eyes. “He always is.” 

“Then what are we waiting for,” the woman snaps. “Let’s get going.” 

“It seems we’ve run into a bit of a problem,” the first man cuts in. He waves a hand around dismissively, smile liquid. “Nothing we can’t take care of, of course. But a setback just the same.”

The woman snarls. “Does it look I _care_ -”

“Please,” the fat man cuts in, forcing her to quiet down. He pulls out a thin sheet from his briefcase, scans it carefully, and then folds it in four to slip inside his suit pocket. “I’ll take care of it.” He gives the woman a sharp look. “I think diplomacy might work best in this case.” 

“I’ve found a good hammer to the head always does the trick, too,” the woman snarks, clearly displeased. Her blood red nails glint underneath the winter sun, a threat in technicolor.

“Let him handle it, sweetheart,” the first man says, sliding into place next to her and earning himself an elbow to the ribs that has him wheezing. He rubs at his side, smile dripping faux-cheer when he adds, “We’ve got other things to do.” 

“Fine,” the woman snaps, turning on her heels. She starts walking towards the entrance of the park, where three Harleys stand in line. One red, one white, one black.  


The group of rowdy high school boys that had been loitering around turn as one to gaze at her when she passes them by, then promptly descent into chaos when the woman send a smile over her shoulder, ready to throw hands if it means claiming the honor of being the one the gesture was directed to. 

“Best to ignore her,” say the first man sympathetically, offering the fat man a cheery wave and a nod. “You best be off then, we’ll see you at the end.” 

“Yes,” the man answers, watching as the sleazy man struts away, the grass turning yellow as he goes. “See you at the end.”

* * *

Brian comes to the smell of smoke. It rises up all around him, clouding like a haze, sticks to his throat when he breathes in, like sandpaper dragging on stone. Someone’s screaming, he realises. Somewhere behind him, someone’s screaming. Raw and desperate and echoing hollow. 

He opens his eyes. 

The world is out of focus. It feels like Brian’s watching everything through stained glass. He can’t see anything but a blur of color - dark red, golden brown, a clear, blue sky. It takes a moment too long for Brian to realise why, and when he does, he fervently wishes he hadn't. 

He’s never had a vision like this, he thinks, though he’s sure he’s in one now. The world around him has the muddled quality of a dream to it, but there’s a sense of foreboding crawling up his spine, like water trickling upwards, that tells him it’s very much not. 

Still, this one is different. Jarringly so. Usually when Brian dreams of the end of the world, he’s always watching from the sidelines. When the armies of Heaven and Hell clash over the horizon and the Horsemen finally ride out, Brian’s at a distance. Not safe, never safe, no one is, but - removed, somehow. Like a cut-out piece of reality just watching the future march by. 

This time Brian can _feel_ the smoke curling around his lungs, taste the bitter bite of ash burning on his tongue. He’s landed squarely in the current of time, and he can feel himself sinking under the riptide. 

There’s a flash of white light, the downward curve of an angel’s wings. A pair of eyes, red as blood. And the sense of urgency that had been building up under his skin rises to an unbearable itch. It settles like lead on his stomach, makes him nauseous, makes him sick. Something tasting too much like defeat is forcing his throat to close up, his breath to come in sharper. There’s regret in the air and Brian is choking on the thick of it. 

‘C’mon,’ a voice says, as raw and desperate as the scream from before. It sounds familiar, but the future is still too muddled, too shapeless for Brian to figure out who it belongs to. It’s still deciding, Brian realizes. The future is still deciding which way it will tip, which side the coin will show when Fate finally flips her hand. ‘Brian _c’mon_ , you can’t-’

A child screams. The air shifts with its echo, rippling like water. Brian can taste salt on his tongue. Tears, he thinks, or the lonely ocean breeze. 

‘You’re not a goddamn _martyr_ -’ the voice goes one, rising in pitch. It breaks on a gasp, and Brian thinks of Autumn, the way it clings so helplessly before Winter comes and washes it all away. ‘Please.’ And there’s the last leaf, kissing the frozen ground. ‘Brian, _don’t_. I’m -’

He comes back with a gasp of air. The hotel room swims in front of his eyes and Brian has to blink one, two, three times until his vision settles. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, clutching the dirty motel bed sheets so tightly inside his hands his knuckles have turned a stark white. 

Brian turns on his side. The shower is running, he can the water dripping down like rain. The other side of the bed is mercifully empty, and he’s so viscerally glad Jae wasn’t there to see him like this. Shaking apart like the earth itself threatens to do.

He blinks. He couldn’t have been out of it for long. One look at the clock and he breathes in a little easier. It still reads 1 AM. 

He brings his palms up to his eyes, trying to rub away the white spot dancing at the edges. Sometimes when a vision takes over, he loses track of time - Once, he was shaking in his bed for an hour until his mother found him and snapped him out of what he still thought were just bad dreams - but this one seems to have been short, thankfully. 

Still rattled, he rises to his feet only to stumble and sink down to his knees in front of the bedside table. He throws up in the garbage bin sitting under it and dry heaves until he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning anymore. 

That is, of course, the exact moment Jae chooses to step out of the bathroom. He’s got a towel wrapped around his shoulders, a pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips and a surprised expression on his face that quickly slides into sharp-edged concern when he catches sight of Brian kneeling next to the wastebin.

“What happened? He asks, striding forward and crouching down next to Brian, who can't help but remember the way Jae softened all his rough edges when confronted with that little girl back at the trailer park. He looks like that now, tentatively smoothing a palm down Brian’s back, eyebrows pulled together in worry. 

Too tired to fight the instincts prodding at him to pull away, create distance, he lets himself sag against Jae’s chest and says, “Just had a vision, ‘s all.”

Jae lets out a sound of surprise, quiet but there. Brian feels his hand clench where it rests against Brian’s back, then smooth back out. Tentatively, he asks, “Are they always this bad?”

“No.” They’re not pretty, but they certainly aren’t this nerve-wracking, this real. It’s been years since Brian realised the boundaries between what he dreamed and what was real were basically non-existence, but he’s never _felt_ it. Not like this. 

Is it his fault? For going up against fate. Is it _Jae’s_? For dragging him into it. Either way, Brian knows one thing for certain: The future is changing. Destiny has reshuffled her cards and there’s no telling what’s the ace underneath her sleeve. Not now. 

The motel room swims. Brian’s never felt this uncertain in his life. 

A pause, then Jae says, “Anything interesting to share with the class?” The lines around his eyes are tight, mouth pulled into a strained smile even as he tries for a wry joke. He helps Brian up, a hand on his waist to keep him from tipping sideways. Brian is too tired to catch the guilt swimming in his red eyes. 

“No,” Brian says again because maybe the scene is changing, maybe the characters have handed in their scripts for a chance at improvisation, but the fact remains: Armageddon is coming, and it’s coming fast. “Can you go get me some water?” 

It’s an obvious chance of subject, a blatant deflection. Going by the sigh Jae lets out, he knows it, too. Still, he’s kind enough to let it go. 

“Sure,” he says and offers him a smile as he sets Brian down on the bed. “Just a sec.” 

The door closes quietly behind Jae’s back and Brian slumps against the bed. He doesn’t know how long Jae is gone, but when he returns with a bottle of water from the vending machine in the hallway and CD tucked under his arm, Brian’s managed to get his heart rate down to normal. He chugs half the bottle down gratefully. 

“Up for some Enya?” Jae asks, waving the CD around. Brian lets out a tired laugh. The music is mostly placebo at this point. His mom was fond of it, and she used to play it for him when he was little, said it would help keep the bad dreams away.

Really, it never did, but Brian was always very good at pretending. He takes the CD, sets it down on the bedside table, and it’s only when his hand brushes Jae’s that he realises how clammy his own skin feels. 

Jae’s shoulders slump. “I can take the couch,” he says then, somewhat awkwardly, which is… new. Brian is used to Jae oozing confidence, cocksure certainty. Even facing down two demons he wasn’t as unsure as he is now, hovering by the bedside, pointing at the lumpy piece of furniture Brian wouldn’t call a couch even if held at gunpoint.

“It’s okay.” He pats the other side of the bed. It’s big enough to offer the illusion of privacy and Brian is far too tired to care about much else right now. “Just don’t cuddle me and we should be fine.”

“You flatter yourself,” Jae snarks, but he flops down on the bed after a moment’s hesitation. There’s a pause, stretched out seconds of thick, blanket-like silence where all Brian can hear is his own breathing. The whirring of the rusty motel heater. The echoes of a far-off scream. 

Quietly, Jae asks, “You sure you’re okay?” 

“I will be,” Brian says because that’s a more honest answer than either a Yes or a No. Yes, he’s used to this. No, he hates he started hoping it would change. He closes his eyes. If he listens closely, he can hear the slow, whispered inhale-exhale cadence of Jae’s breathing and it’s easy, he finds, too easy to will his own to match it.

Brian sleeps. And when he wakes up hours later, far less tired and with this nightmare-like vision set aside in a corner of his mind daylight can’t reach, he has to wonder what it says about him that the best night’s sleep he’s had in years was thanks to the demon lying next to him on the other side of the bed.

* * *

Demons are stupid, Wonpil decides. And he’s being generous here. Idiotic might be more fitting. Or just plain ignorant. 

All his immortal life he’s been told that their Enemy is the pinnacle of evil, a representation of humanity’s worst sides. Born out of greed, instincts edged in lust, demons are creatures of pride and hubris. All of them. Rebelion for the sake of chaos given human form.

Of course, The Incident had already planted the first seed of doubt inside Wonpil’s mind, had sent Wonpil spiraling down the dark undercurrents of what it really means to Question Things. And now, watching as the prophet plucks a pair of sunglasses out of this familiar demon’s coat pocket and sends him a withering look that has the demon pouting, he’s sure enough to say with certainty: Demons are _incredibly_ stupid. 

This one most of all. 

“I wasn’t going to steal them,” the demon grumbles under his breath. Still, he places the sunglasses reluctantly back on the display shelf.

“No, of course not.” The prophet rolls his eyes. “You were just going borrow them.” He grabs the demon by the elbow and leads him away. He looks tired, shoulders slumped, but his lips are quirking up into a fond smile Wonpil can’t help but watch with ever-growing interest.

“Not borrow,” the demons shoots back with a grin, leaning down closer to the prophet’s ear. “More like willfully misplace.” 

The prophet laughs, and the sound echoes. The convenience store they’re at is all but empty at this hour. Wonpil takes full advantage of it. He keeps himself tucked near the back aisle, a good distance away from the one where the prophet is deciding between two different bags of chips. The demon peers over his shoulder. The human can't seem to decide. 

Wonpil knows demons are capable of sensing divine grace as skillfully as angels are capable of hiding it - God works in mysterious ways, after all, but the Devil is in the details - so it puts them at an impasse. The demon doesn’t seem to have noticed Wonpil yet, but the scales could tip in a moment’s notice and turn that particular fact on its head, so Wonpil is careful to keep close to the pair but not close enough as to be spotted. 

Considering how the demon can’t seem to take his eyes away from the human prophet, Wonpil figures he needn’t worry so much. 

“We should get going,” the demon says. “We’re already behind schedule, just - how hard is to choose? Take that one - We slept for too long.” 

The prophet takes one last look at the bags of chips and then, much to the demon’s chagrin, sets them both back down.

“I need to eat something,” he says. “Not just snacks.” 

The demon look like he wants to argue, mouth pursed the same way Wonpil remembers. “ _Fine_ ,” he says after a five-second stare off, rolling his eyes when the prophet grins in victory. “There’s a Mcdonald’s down the corner, that good enough for you?”

The prophet mutters something under his breath Wonpil doesn’t manage to catch as they make their way out the store. “I never say no to burgers,” he says. 

They keep talking, drawing closer as they make their way down the street so they can hear each other over the dull buzz of the crowded street. 

Wonpil draws closer, too. He’s not eavesdropping, but angels are witnesses - they watch, they guard - that's’ what Wonpil has done all his life.

They come to a head next to a red-and-yellow building smelling deeply of grease. The demon opens the door for the prophet, then stops short before stepping inside himself. Wonpil stumbles, pulls his grace back as tightly as he can when the demon casts a wary glance across the street, eyes sweeping up and down. Left and right. 

“You coming in or what?” The prophet call out from inside the joint when he sees the demon isn't following after him. “I’m _starving_.” 

The demon stalls, forehead scrunched as he takes one deep breath. He wrinkles his nose, frowning. Quietly, Wonpil sends a quick thank you upwards to his brothers and sisters; there’s nothing quite like the smell of burned food to cover up the scent of divine power.

“Jae?” 

“Yeah,” the demon answers, eyes still narrowed even as he steps inside the building and lets the door fall shut behind him. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wonpil watches from the outside. He can see the prophet and the demon up by the counter, busy ordering their food. As far as Heaven knows, they’ve been traveling together for a day at most. Two, if their scouts in the Ohio division are to be believed. And yet, Wonpil thinks as he watches them bicker soundlessly over something trifle. And yet. They already seem to fit.

It’s no lock and key, certainly, not a puzzle piece meeting its missing match. Angels aren’t very good at recognizing doubt - mostly because they’ve never had a reason to feel it themselves - but Wonpil bears a human name and the few centuries he’s spent on earth are a weight on his shoulders, pushing him closer to the ground. So he sees the line of guilt in the demon’s shoulders, the way his smile hides a secret from view. He sees, too, the way the prophet reaches for the demon only to stop himself at the very last moment, rearing back that brand-new vein of want under careful layers of practiced mistrust. 

It’s an interesting dance to watch. The pull and push. There’s an obstacle in their way, however self-imposed. A call that rings too hesitant and an answer that refuses to arrive.

Wonpil hides a smile under his hand. How very human of them.

Inside, the prophet mourns his empty tray. The demon pushes his own closer to him and waves to gesture off with a dismissive scoff. 

_Certainly_ no lock and key, Wonpil thinks. And yet. The demon grins and it looks much like a match, striking fire. The prophet laughs a low laugh in answer and that’s the flame, brought to life. 

Wonpil takes a step forward, then stops short. It’s not unfamiliar, this hesitation, but it’s still so very new. And maybe it always will be, he thinks. Standing at the edge. That seems to be the case for most.

He has his orders. _Find the prophet, kill him when you do_. It’s numbingly straightforward. A clear cut path with no way to stray from it. No forks in the road, no choices to make. But Wonpil remembers a night a few years ago, remembers this same demon and his way with words, the way he made Wonpil sway. Made him pause. Made him think.

And he’s tired, he thinks. Tired from being forever stuck on the sidelines. Watching through the window. He’s seen countless years come and go, he’s lived through countless of Pasts, watched limitless Presents. And yet.

And yet. His immortal life bears no weight on the world. Angels are not meant to be seen, not meant to decide. Cause and consequence, isn’t? But Wonpil will never leave tracks on the snow. He’ll never set action into motion. And for the second time since the first dawn of the first day, Wonpil finds himself wondering, _but what if I do?_

Wonpil sighs, feels his feathers ruffle even hidden as they are. Doubt is an awful thing to feel when you’re born something other than human. Mortals - they’re used to it. They’re very existence is based on uncertainty. Angels? They’re made with one purpose and one purpose only. Doubt is foreign. It is out of the question, because - well. They were never even given to chance to ask in the first place, were they?

Something trickles down the back of spine. A sick sense of hungry urgency makes him snap back from his thoughts, and he looks through the restaurant window just in time to see the demon’s eyes widening in horror as the prophet reaches for a monster’s hand.

Then Wonpil stops thinking, and he starts to act.

* * *

“Are you done?”

“Do not rush me.” 

Jae sighs, setting his coke down to watch instead as Brian shovels fry after fry inside his mouth. The McDonalds is awfully crowded at 4 o'clock and even though Jae does not particularly want to admit it, he’s getting angstier by the minute. 

He fidgets on his seat, the hard plastic digging uncomfortably into his skin. It’s bad enough that the imagine of a pale, scarily wan Brian is replaying like a loop inside his head, but there’s also a sense of dread starting to itch underneath his skin. It makes him feel too much like they’re sitting ducks, just waiting for the bite of a bullet. 

Maybe it’s the guilt, he thinks. Jae is the first one to admit that he hasn't been entirely honest with Brian but well, he didn’t think he would give a damn about it now, did he?

Jae sighs again, ruffling his hair. This was supposed to be a partnership, a quick in-out kind of thing. Get the prophet, stop the Antichrist, save the world. A to B. There’s no _get attached_ bullet point anywhere on the list. 

There’s no reason why Jae should feel _bad_ about a little white lie. He’s no angel, his wings are long gone. His moral compass went askew a good few centuries ago, too. His North is now very firmly planted on a sense of self-preservation. It just so happens that the needle has aligned with the altruistic goal of saving humanity, this time around. 

Altruistic, well. That’s where Brian is supposed to come in, if Jae could only stop feeling bad about throwing him to the tracks. 

“Pass me the ketchup,” Brian says through a mouthful of burger, waving an insistent hand Jae’s way. 

Jae looks at him for a moment, trying to get a sense of why, just _why_ , this man had to come in screw things up. It’s not a matter of simple interest, not anymore. Jae doesn’t know what exactly is making his conscience show back up for work after centuries of vacationing, but it’s there all right, that nagging feeling that’s starting to look an awful lot like _protect_. 

Fuck, Jae thinks just as Brian makes grabby hands at him. Jae complies, in the end, and Brian somehow manages to get ketchup all over his shirt collar, some on his lips. It’s beyond gross. Jae is horrified to find himself thinking it’s also beyond endearing. 

He’s happy, he realises with something akin to defeat, to see Brian relaxing. Walking out of the bathroom to sight of him sprawled over the motel floor and shivering was enough of a bad surprise. Feeling the wave of concern crashing over him when he did? That was the real shock. 

And there comes the guilt again. Only, not exactly. Jae straightens in his seat. He can swear there’s someone watching them, has been ever since they left the motel. It’s a prickling at the back of his neck and it makes Jae wary. 

Unaware, Brian keeps on eating. They’re cutting it close, time-wise. Jae would prefer it if they booted it out of Iowa right about now. Hell can’t be that behind, as incompetent as they seem to be, and Jae could _swear_ he saw- 

The door to the McDonald's opens with a whoosh to let another customer in. The feeling of being watched crests to a crescendo before it putters out like foam ashore as soon as the door closes again. 

“C’mon,” Jae prods, watching warily around the joint for any signs of what he hopes to Hell doesn’t turn out to be who he thinks it is. “Eat faster.” 

“That’s bad for digestion,” Brian snarks back, replies instead, “Go get me more fries?” 

“Seriously? The puppy eyes? It’s not gonna work.” Jae tries his best to remain unimpressed - he’s a wall he’s a wall he’s a _goddamn wall_ \- but Brian pouts harder, mouth still smeared ketchup red. It’s an annoyingly cute look on him, working wonders on Jae’s resolve and wrecking havoc across his mind. Not to say, his heart. He hasn’t reach reckless levels of desperation yet, though it’s definitely close. 

No _get attached_ bullet point, he thinks. Fuck, but Jae was never good at sticking to the plan anyways. 

“Fine,” he relents, rising up from the chair. “Last serving, then we’re flooring it to California. No more pit-stops.” 

“Okay.” Brian aggress happily enough, going back to munching on his greasy food. “Whatever you say, Amy.” 

“Asshole,” Jae mutters back and, if it sounds a tad more fond that it should, well, Jae’s the only one who notices it. 

The line in front of the counter is long, and the sense of being watched presses insistently at his back the whole time Jae is stuck waiting for a mom and her three rowdy toddlers to decide on what to eat. It’s the same feeling you get when you’re waiting for a storm to arrive - the charged air, the lighting threatening to break. 

Then Jae turns around and he realises with sinking dread that he was wrong - The storm is already here. 

There’s a businessman sitting across from Brian. Brian is clearly uncomfortable, leaning away as far from the man as the booth will allow and Jae freezes, blood turning ice-cold. He can feel the man’s oppressive nature clouding around the restaurant like a haze. It curls like black smoke around tables, under legs, and Jae can feel his stomach start to rumble. 

The man is smiling politely, but there’s a hungry edge to it. Like a predator, circling its prey.  
“Did you enjoy the meal?” The man asks Brian nonchalantly, pushing at his half-finished food with a long, bony finger. He has a ring on his index finger, old and thick. A symbol is etched on it in rough strokes. Jae is not close enough to see it, but he doesn’t need to to know what it is.

Brian falters and Jae is striding towards him before he knows what he’s doing. “Brian,” he starts, voice thigh. “We should-”

The man tuts. “Don’t be rude, little demon,” he chides, and the look he sends him is chilling down to the marrow. “We were having a conversation.” He raises a hand, flicking his fingers. Jae feels a trickle down his spine, the sharp pang of hunger, and when he tries to move his feet, he finds them stuck to the floor. Rooted firmly into place. 

“Now,” Famine says, turning to look a Brian, who's staring warily back at him, eyes flicking nervously now and then in Jae’s direction, forehead pulled down in concern. “Let’s get down to business, shall we.”

Jae opens his mouth to argue. This is - this is very bad. Jae may be a demon, but this man is a Horseman. A force of destruction, and quite a literal one at that. Jae can’t move a finger against him. Also quite literally. 

Still. “Stop,” Jae says, trying to cover up the anxiety curling sickly in is gut with paper-thin bravado. He gets as far as a single syllable before the Horseman snaps his fingers again and all words die on his throat. 

“Don’t mind him.” Famine waves a hand around, dismissive. “This is between you and me, Brian Kang. The world can wait.” 

“What do you want?” Brian spits out. He keeps looking in Jae’s direction, and Jae does his best to tell convey the very urgent message that he should _get the fuck out,_ before it’s too late. 

This isn’t like the bar, he thinks desperately. This isn’t even like their run-in with Alastor and Barbatos. Jae can’t protect Brian now. Not against a Horseman. Demons may be the go-to folktale Bad Guys, but there’s always a bigger threat, always a bigger fish. Always a worse situation threatening to break like storm in the horizon. And this, Jae thinks defeatedly, is it. 

Brian’s lips purse, and Jae can _see_ the fear in his eyes, the tightness around his eyes. But still, _but still_ , Brian turns to stare Famine down.

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” Famine answers, inclining his head. 

“A deal?” Brian asks back, and he’s clearly stalling, scanning the joint for any exists before he circles back to look at Jae, who stands still, unable to move as he watches Brian go up against his childhood nightmare. “What about?”

“Why Armaggeddon, of course,” Famien drawls, smoothly taking out a piece of paper from his suit pocket, spreading it out in front of Brian, who looks down at in badly-hidden bewilderment. 

Dread settles in the pit of Jae’s stomach, mixing in with the sick sense of hunger. He tries to tell Brian to back away, to run, to _stop listening_. All his efforts remain empty air. 

“And why would you even bother,” Brian asks, fidgeting on his seat. He’s not stupid, clearly. There’s no reason why the Horsemen would care so much about a little human. Except there is, _of course_ there is, only Brian doesn't know. Because Jae hasn’t told him. 

There’s a saying among demons, one they like to throw around when making crossroad deals: _Every secret has a price_. And Jae thinks, this must be the bill. He feels guilt sink its claws on him again.

Famine hums. “The Apocalypse is coming. You can feel it. _I_ can feel it. Satan’s son is angry, and there’s nothing you can do to stop his wrath.”

“He’s an eleven year old boy,” Brian cuts in. 

“Yes. A very _powerful_ eleven-year-old. And you know how bad kids can get when they’re throwing a tantrum.” The man grins humorlessly. “So here’s my offer, Brian Kang, you keep your head down, stay put and out of our businesses, and I guarantee you an easy life.” 

“Easy life,” Brian echoes, like he’s tasting the words. “You mean, until you and the rest of your friends destroy the world and then I’ll just die anyways, right?” Brian snorts - it’s probably a very stupid thing to do, considering he’s got one of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse sitting in front of him, but Jae has had the suspicion that Brian doesn't really care if he lives or dies since he first met him, so maybe it stands to reason. Or whatever fucked up logic Brian uses to excuse his total disinterest for life. 

“Ah, I’m afraid there’s no way around that.” Famine sends him a slightly pitying look. “It’s just a formality, you see. Humanity is going to be extinct by the end of the week whether you want it or not.” 

“But,” he drawls, hunger clear in his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be better to enjoy earth’s last days to the fullest? I’m offering you all the luxuries in the world, prophet. Think about it, you could make your last days on this world worth living.” 

Jae watches the doubt flickering in Brian’s eyes. It would be easy, he thinks, for Brian to take the out Famine is offering him. If they don’t pull this off - what’s it matter to Brian if he dies now or in five days? It’s all the same to him. This is just freedom on a silver platter.

Jae struggles, trying to shout, yell, _anything_ to make Brian understand. He still can’t get a single sound past his lips. 

“No,” Brian says, surprising Jae as much as himself, apparently. His eyes widen at his own words, then set in determination, like hearing it aloud made him realises he was putting up a fight. He squares his shoulders, says “I don’t make deals with the monsters under my bed.”

Something changes in the air, then. Famine’s eyes narrow, his lips curl up into a snarl that threatens danger - gone is the easygoing man from before. Jae watches that persona peel away like cracked eggshells. He knows, the Horseman’s real nature is coming out to play.

“I was hoping you’d be smarter about this, little prophet,” The monster says. He sighs, like Brian’s disappointed him greatly. “But maybe that was too much to hope for. You leave me no choice.” 

He points a finger at Jae, who gurgles, hands going to claw at his neck, at the sudden pressure pulling tight at his throat. His stomach aches, caving in. 

“Stop!” Brian yells, hand flailing as he rises to his feet, but one wave of Famine’s hand and he’s slamming back down against the seat. He struggles, like pulling at invisible string. The rest of the customers keep on eating, completely oblivious to the commotion, but there’s an urgency to their actions now, like they can’t stop themselves from chewing, can’t think of anything else but the food. 

“Hunger works in different ways,” Famine starts conversationally, as the people stuff themselves full, as Jae gasps desperately for air. The oxygen’s been cut off, or maybe it just feels like it. Either way, Jae’s drowning with both feet stuck on land.

“This last century has been particularly entraining,” the Horseman goes on. Jae can see Brian gritting his teeth, pulling against Famine’s hold futilely. “You humans talk about world hunger like it’s such a terrible condition, like it’s something you can’t even hope to remedy... And yet.” 

He trails off, turns dark, dark eyes Brian’s way, mocking. “And yet here you are, millions of these joints all over the country, eating yourselves full of grease and industrial waste.” He scoffs. “Very hypocritical of you, if you ask me, but I suppose that is why I look like this.” He gestures to himself, at the fat around his neck. “I’m merely a reflection or humanity’s greatest mistakes, after all.” 

“Stop,” Brian pleads, and there’s really no other word for it, with his voice paper-thin as it is. He’s pressed against the booth, but his eyes keep flickering frantically towards Jae, whose world is starting to smudge black at the edges. 

“And why should I?” Famine shrugs a shoulder. Hands poised like claws, he slides the paper resting on top of the table closer towards Brian, nodding his head in Jae’s direction. “This is your doing, Brian Kang,” he says. “But you can stop it, too.” 

There’s a charged moment where Brian looks at Jae and all Jae can do is look back. Then, “Fine,” Brian grits out. And Jae struggles - because he’s a _demon_ , he knows a bad deal when he sees one and this is Brian flicking his king down against the chess board - but there’s a heady mix of worry and fear swimming in Brian’s eyes that sharpens inevitably into steel-edged determination. “Fine. I’ll stay away just - Just let Jae go.”

“Your word isn’t enough, prophet,” Famine says, though he’s clearly very pleased, a smug smile tugging at his thin lips. He tucks a fountain pen out of his pocket and hands it over to Brian. Jae sees Brian’s hands shaking, fingers trembling when they reach out to takes it. “Sign here.” 

A bony finger points at the bottom of the page. Famine’s ring glints under the restaurant’s lights, sunlight on a knife-blade, and the sense of urgency that had been biting at Jae’s heels ever since they left the motel grows stronger, impossibly so. 

Brian sends him a pained look, uncapping the pen. Jae twists his head around in a last ditch effort. This is signing off the world, this is giving up, even if Brian has no way of knowing that. Jae tries to heave a breath, feels himself choking, and meets the smell of Winter, of snow, the sharp tang of wine. 

Always a bigger fish, Jae thinks humorlessly as the world swims and dulls. Always a worse situation. Jae would curse if he had any air left inside his lungs. 

As it is though, his last thought is: Oh Hell, not _him_. Then the restaurant’s doors open with a bang and a flash of white light sends Jae tipping over the edge and straight down into unconsciousness.

* * *

Jae goes down in a flail of limbs. Brian barely has the time to shout out before a hand comes down in front of him and flicks the fountain pen away from his hands.

“ _Angel_ ” Famine spits out, pure fury twisting his face into a horrible grimace. “You have no business here.” 

Brian watches wide-eyed as the newcomer stares Famine down impassively. Angel, he thinks. Why not. Brian was never much of a believer, but his mom used to tell him stories about guardian angels, sweet creatures who’d keep watch over him and come to his aid if he ever needed it. 

Brian never believed her, not really. If he had, thought, he still doesn’t think he would have pictured angels like _this_. 

The angel looks more like boy than anything else. His hair is a soft brown, curling over his steel-edged eyes. He’s standing over Jae’s prone body - and God, Brian doesn’t even want to _think_ about that, the way he went down like a puppet with its string cut, the surprising strength with which fear pulled at his heart when he did - and he looks harmless, though the way Famine is fummign quitely and hunching in on himself indicates otherwise. 

“Leave,” the angel says and his voice rings soft but settled, like a person long at ease with the power he wields. “And don’t come back.”

Famine laughs bitterly. “What makes you think-” 

There’s a blinding flash of white light. Two wings sprawl outwards from behind the angel’s back, tips almost touching the floor. Brian has a second to admire them, then the angel swings them forward, like he’s pushing himself up into flight. Brian snaps his eyes shut on instinct and still feels them burn against the light. 

Brian counts three breath, three traitorous skips of his heart.Then there’s a small touch to his back, the feeling of cold hands ,and when Brian finally opens his eyes again the angel is much closer than before and Famine is - 

He’s gone. Disappeared from the joint like dust in the wind. Brian looks around warily, finds he can move again only to stumble to his feet and cross the distance between him and Jae’s prone form in a hurry.

“He’ll be okay,” the angel tells him, softly but surely when he sees Brian carding a hand through Jae’s hair. He isn’t moving, and the rise and fall of his chest is barely there. Brian bites down on his lip, worry curling in his gut. 

“How do you know?” he asks, crouching down next to Jae and setting the demon’s head down carefully on his lap. Around them, the other customer are starting to snap back from Famine’s daze. They’re looking around in bewilderment. Kids, parents, high schoolers, all of them blinking like they’re still sleep-addled. It won't be long before someone starts asking questions. 

“Evil is annoying resilient,” the angel answers him with a patient smile. “And so are demons.” He frowns slightly, amends, “He might need a little help, though.” 

Then angel reaches down before Brian can do anything to stop him and touches two fingers softly to Jae’s forehead. There’s a flicker of white, and then Jae comes back with a gasp. 

He lurches forward, clutching at Brian’s wrist unseeingly when Brian tries to push him back down, lest he hurts himself worse. 

“Ugh,” he groans, head hitting Brian’s lap with a dull thud. He blinks up at him, then drifts his gaze to the side, where the angel’s face hovers over Brian’s shoulder. “ _Ugh_ ,” he says, with more feeling this time around, and Brian chokes back a relieved laugh at the familiar tone. “I knew it, fuck. I _knew_ it was you.”

“Hello, Jaehyung,” the angel greets him, smile growing wider in clear amusement. His tone is not warm, exactly, but - fond. Maybe. 

There’s definitely some kind of history there. Brian raises a questioning eyebrow. “You two know each other?”

“Not exactly,” Jae says just as the angel replies with a simple, “Yes.” He and Jae exchange glances. The angel raises an eyebrow, daring. Jae grimaces.

“Seoul. Summer of 06,” Jae explains, sitting up slowly and looking around warily. He rubs at his throat. “Motherfucker,” he grunts. Then he turns towards Brian, points at the angel point-blank and says, “Brian, meet Raziel. The only angel I’ve ever known to be crazy enough to interfere with demon business, and the reason I got fucking demoted.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” the angel says to Brian, who helps Jae up and answers in kind. “I go by Wonpil now, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“You stuck with that?” Jae asks back. “I thought you didn’t like the name I gave you.” He shakes his head, leaning on Brian for support, who doesn’t think twice about slinging an arm around his waist. He can still see Jae choking in picture-perfect detail. Can feel the sour taste of bile at the back of his throat. Unconsciously, Brian tightens his hold on him.

Wonpi shrugs. His feather ruffle, then seem to glimmer as they disappear. Like blowing out smoke. Or dandelions scattering in the wind. 

“I like it now,” he says. “It’s very human.” 

“Of course it is.” Jae rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here anyways? I thought Heaven was all hands on deck right now.”

“I was sent to kill the prophet,” Wonpil replies mildly. Brian tenses, eyeing the angel with new-found wariness. He remembers, suddenly, what Jae said about angels, how they go around smiting everyone to pieces. He remembers, too, the blinding flash of white light. How Famine was there one second and gone the next. He shivers, shoulders hiking up. That certainly doesn't seem like a nice way to go.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Jae says, and Brian doesn’t miss how the demon also clutches tighter at Brian’s shirt. “Not gonna happen.” 

Wonpil inclines his head with a teasing smirk. “It’s rare to see a demon care so much for someone who’s not himself. Even you, Jaehyung.”

“ _Listen_ -” Jae starts.

Wonpil holds up a hand to stop him. “I’m not here to kill the prophet,” he says. 

“Damn right,” Jae snaps, pulling Brian in closer, who goes willingly. 

“I want to _help_ ,” Wonpil returns exasperatedly. If he had his wings out, Brian would imagine his feathers would be ruffling. 

Jae blinks, clearly caught off guard. “You?” he asks incredulously. “Don’t you have orders to follow? Are you going _against_ them? Are you _rebelling_?”

“Not exactly,” Wonpil says, not exactly snappy, but something tell Brian it would’t take much to get him there. There’s a tightness around the angel’s eyes now, mouth pursed into a thin line. 

“I just don’t think Heaven is doing the right thing, going to war like this,” he explains carefully. "There will be too many casualties and it’s - it’s doubtful, that Father would want such a thing.”

“That’s the point though,” Jae says. “Ineffability. You can’t _really_ know what He wants.”

“Then maybe this was his plan all along.” Wonpil smirks. “Me, helping you.”

Jae gapes for a moment. His jaw hangs open, then snaps close. Wordlessly, he turns towards Brian. 

“I mean,” Briam shrugs. “You saw what he did to the Horseman. I wouldn't say no to bringing him along.” It definitely has more pros than cons, and okay, sue him. Maybe Brian’s also a bit curious about the shared past between Jae and Wonpil. 

“ _Fine_ ,” Jae snaps. “Have it your way. Let’s bring the feathered asshole along.”

Wonpil beams, a pleased smile working its way across his face. He either clearly didn’t hear the insult thrown in there, or he’s just ignoring it, “Oh, this is going to be fun,” he says. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jae waves his hands around, turning to stare at Wonpil dead in the eye. “Just don’t come crawling to me if you lose a few feathers along the way.”

Something flashes across Wonpil’s face, too quick for Brian to catch, nevertheless understand. Before Brian can give it much thought, though, Jae is striding away towards the door, saying, “C’mon, we’ve lost a shitton of time and even angel smiting is not enough to keep a Horseman away for long. People are staring, too. Chop chop.”

He swings the door open, then strolls away towards the motel. Brian shares a commiserating look with Wonpil before following him out into the cold Iowa sprawl. 

At least, he thinks when he catches up to Jae, angel in tow, they’re both still breathing. And, punchline pending, maybe life is not as bad of a joke as he had thought it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks if you've stuck this far! I've had this idea stuck in my head for months and I'm happy to finally share it. 
> 
> When I'm not dropping off the face of the earth you can always find me at [Tumblr](https://jahehyung.tumblr.com) / [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ttamarrindo) / [CC](https://curiouscat.me/ttamarrindo)! Feel free to send in any questions/thoughts and please consider leaving a comment! They're lovely gifts <3
> 
> Now also with beautiful, incredible [fanart!](https://twitter.com/poetic_pug/status/1022091740839170048)


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